Impounded
by SamiWami
Summary: The Doctor has been bragging for far too long about parking where ever he pleases. Sometimes, actions have consequences. And what happens when all of his normal tricks and cheats are useless?


**Author's Note: Ah, the strange workings of my mind... I just like to torture the Doctor in regards to the TARDIS, don't I? (Go check out my story, Unwelcome Distraction from the Edge of Despair.) Anyways, this takes place some time after he's lost everyone, even Donna, but before he's regenerated. What mission he's coming back from, doesn't matter.**

**This sprang from an odd conversation with my best friend and the comment in The Age of Steel episode about parking wherever he wanted. Just having some fun, me. Please excuse the bad accents. I do not know anything about Scottish accents (and, to be perfectly honest, I wasn't trying to imitate one. The impound lot worker just ended up talking like that, OK?) And I picked Glasgow on a random whim. Mostly because I like the name.**

**Disclaimer: I, obviously, do not own Doctor Who. Only the idea in this story is mine. If I owned the show, me and my plot bunnies would have run it into the ground by now.**

**And David Freakin' Tennant would have been tied up in a closet somewhere rather than being allowed to leave the show.  
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"No, no, no, no, no!" the Doctor shouted as he ran down the street. He'd just finished another earth-saving mission, only to come back to the TARDIS to find it loaded on the back of a truck and driving away. He was now running down the street after it, trying to wave the driver down. The man paid no attention, and he watched his beloved time machine move farther away.

After a few streets and losing sight of her completely, he slowed to a stop, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he sucked breath in. How could this happen? The TARDIS had a perception filter so that humans would leave it well enough alone. Hundreds of years of traveling time and space, his TARDIS had been captured by aliens in the past but never by a human towing company.

Once he could breath, he started down the street again. He'd, of course, cataloged the towing company's logo on the truck into his extensive mind. He stopped at a phone booth nearby, picking up the phone book hanging by a worn cord. Of course; the lot was only two miles away... He sighed with resignation, just wanting to be back in the TARDIS with the seventh Harry Potter book. But no... Off he went.

It was odd having to take the slow route. He seemed to run everywhere... And the times he had strolled along the street, he'd been distracted by one of his companions. Now, on his own, he was looking at the world in a new light.

Damn place, taking away his TARDIS... Didn't saving the world a billion times over give him some free parking rights or something?

He was still in a grumbling, stormy mood when he arrived at the fenced-in lot, but he covered it up. If he had learned anything in his 900-some-odd years traversing the universe, it was that people were a lot less likely to help you out if you took your anger out on them. He walked up to the man in the little booth in front, putting his hands flat on the counter as a sheepish grin spread across his face. "Uh, hi. Strange question for you. . . You wouldn't happen to have a blue police box here, would you?"

The man eyed him wearily, no emotion flickering across his dull face. "Let me check," he answered after a pause, turning towards his computer. There was another moment of silence filled only with the clicking of keys. "Yeah, 's one brought in 'bout two hours ago."

He let out a relieved chuckle. Oh good, she was here then. No need to wonder where his precious TARDIS had been carted off to this time. But those pesky UNIT people. . . That thought could wait for another time. "Can I... Can I have it back?" He shuffled his feet on the ground, not sure how else to word that.

The man took a drag on the cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked the Doctor over again. Lazily, he turned back to his computer and punched a few more commands in. "That'll be 245 quid."

The Doctor nearly choked. "245 quid? What in sanity's name would make it cost that much?"

The man's eyes slid between the Doctor and the computer before him. "That li'l box o' yours is deceptively heavy, mister. We 'ad to 'ave a lorry out to get 'er on the truck, plus it's been sittin' 'ere for two 'ours. . ."

"But. . . But. . . 245 quid?" His superior Time Lord brain seemed to be having trouble getting around that number. But something clicked in his head, and his genial smile was back in place. "Quite heavy, you say? Well, maybe it's not mine. . . Could I. . . have a look at her? To. . . To make sure she's mine, of course!"

The man's eyes sparked as he took another long drag on his cigarette. "'ow many blue boxes are there in Glasgow these days? You want 'er back, ya pay first."

The Doctor gritted his teeth, his expression far more animalistic than it had been before. This man was goading out the Oncoming Storm, and he had no idea what he was dealing with. "Just let me see her." He'd lost Rose, Martha, Donna, Mickey, and Jack. He was not about to lose the TARDIS as well, his first and last companion.

The man blew a puff of smoke into the Doctor's face. This man had been working the impound lot for 12 years; he was no stranger to belligerent customers who wanted their vehicles back. "245 quid, then ya can 'ave yer silly box back." He slammed the grating on the booth closed, making it very clear that this conversation was over.

The Doctor huffed, glared the man down angrily, and turned around, heading back farther into town. Once he turned a corner and was out of site of the man, he dashed as rapidly as he could to the nearest ATM. Making sure no one was around to see, he fumbled through his pockets, looking for his sonic screwdriver. The man wanted 245 quid? Fine. What did he care?

That was, until he pulled a charred screwdriver out of one of his pockets, staring angrily at it. How had he forgotten that he'd burned the core out on his last adventure? Once again, save the world a billion times over, and his reward was. . . He turned and threw the useless device down an alleyway with a Gallifreyan curse.

What was he going to do now? He needed money, and he needed it in a hurry! He ran his hands through his wild brown hair, trying to sift through the billions of ideas to find one that would actually work. He began going through his pockets again, pulling things out and throwing them on the ground around him. There had to be something in one of them that could help him.

"Cool!" one young boy cried out, tugging his mother's hand to stop her. The Doctor looked up but did not stop in his search. The ground around him was littered with various playing cards, a top hat, three baskets of varying sizes, a ball of Gathlorian string, a small tabby cat, and a kitchen sink. Never know when you're gonna need one of those.

"Mummy, look at the funny street magician!" another little girl cried out, stopping her mother as well. Street magicians had always amused the doctor, but he didn't have time to check one out now. He had to have something at the bottom of. . . this pocket that could help him? He began pulling out a long series of colorful scarves all tied together out of his inside jacket pocket. It just kept coming. How long had that been in there?

He heard a strange chiming noise and looked around. He'd attracted a sizable crowd at this point. The two kids he had heard speaking earlier were bouncing excitedly just outside his circle of varying items, and more had gathered to watch him. The tinkling he had heard was some of the observers throwing some change into the overturned top hat in front of him. _Oh, _I'm _the street magician,_ he realized with a start, looking around with his big, surprised brown eyes.

When he'd paused for two long, the kids started cheering him on. "Come on then, come on, what else are you gonna do?" The little blonde girl asked first.

When he just blinked at her, her mom whispered to the woman standing next to her, "He certainly has an interesting act. I mean, I've seen magicians pull a rabbit out of a hat before, but never a potted plant out of their pocket! How do you suppose he does it?"

The woman just shook her head. "I never pretend to know. But this one could work on his presentation a bit more, ya?"

That last comment gave the Doctor a push. He straightened up, that infectious grin he knew the ladies loved across his face. What was that Cassandra had said about him? _Foxy, that was it._ "Ladies and gents," he called out to the crowd with an elaborate sweep of his arms. "Thank you for your patronage. I am the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" that same little girl asked, interrupting him. "What a strange name for a magician."

"Ah, but I am a strange magician," he said, getting close to her face. He fished around in one of his pockets and pulled out a lollipop as big as the girl's face, and handed it to her, winking at her mum. The woman blushed, but smiled back, content to let her daughter keep the sucker for now. She pulled a tenner out of her purse and handed it to her daughter to put in the hat with the other money that had been deposited.

The Doctor continued to pull all sorts of odds and ends out of his pockets: some Tibethian (not the country, the planet) fireworks, which he lit off and let race above the heads of the stunned crowd in an insane game of tag; a Vellusian snapping plant, which he quickly tied shut with the Gathlorian string and shoved back in his pocket, making a show of where it had bitten him on the finger; a pocket bike that he road around his ever growing pile of things before leaping off of it again; a Bethlet cube that, when opened, played the most heart-breaking lullaby in the known universe; and a pair of tap shoes from the 28th century that would allow any person to dance like Frank Sinatra (whether they wanted to or not).

But when he'd reached an estimated amount of 150 quid thrown into the hat, the Doctor began to run out of interesting things in his pockets. Dimensional rainbow manipulators and Velvusan multiplying rabbits (they weren't rabbits, really, but that's the closest Earth thing the Doctor could compare them to) were hard to follow with Hardvi fabric, a Nestene medi-kit, and a few spare ties, after all. His crowd got bored and wandered away, leaving him grasping for something else. He couldn't lose now, not with only 95 quid left to earn!

"Wait, wait, wait!" he cried out, switching back and forth as he couldn't decide which patrons to trail. "I have. . . I have. . . Ooh, what about a. . . monarch butterfly?" The little blonde girl waved at him with her lollipop as her mom towed her away. "How long has that been in there?" he wondered allowed as the poor creature tried to flutter away before landing halfway across the street.

He was interrupted from his desperation by a giggle behind him. He wheeled around, looking for the source, wondering if he still had one interested audience member. When his eyes fell on Martha and Mickey, he jumped back in shock. "Mickey! Martha! What, what, what are you doing here?"

Martha moved her hand from her mouth, where she'd been holding it and trying to suppress her laughter. "We was just gonna ask you the same question, Doctor."

Despite the silliness of his current situation, he was overjoyed to see the two of them. He'd been alone for three months now, after everyone had left him—or been left by him. . . And that was in his time line! Who knew how long it had been since they had last seen him. Longer, judging by the rings on their fingers and the baby bump Martha smoothed a hand over. He gave a relieved laugh and bounded towards them, pulling them both into a tight hug. "Oh, but it _is_ good to see you two! What a sight for sore eyes!"

They hugged him back for a moment before Mickey pulled away again, looking the older man in the eyes. "But really, Doctor, what are you doing here?"

Something unplaceable (and certain unseen by either of them) flashed through the Doctor's eyes before he mumbled something, shooting his eyes to his trainers as he scuffed the ground. Martha laughed again, before placing a hand on his arm. "Doctor, we can't hear you when you talk to your feet. What's going on? Is the world in danger again?"

He finally looked up again, a thoroughly sheepish look on his face. "Nothing quite that drastic, 'm afraid."

"Doctor? Where's the TARDIS?" Martha asked suddenly, looking at him intently. He coughed again, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Weeellll. . ." He dragged the word out, like he always did when he'd rather avoid the subject. "She's. . . She's safe, I presume. She's. . ."

He was cut off, thankfully, by a tap on the shoulder. He turned to see a short, squat man tapping his foot impatiently. His arms were folded across his chest, and he looked at the Doctor with a critical eye. "Can I have my poodle back now? Please?"

The Doctor gave another start. Then his look got even more sheepish, if that was possible, and he reached into a pocket, pulling a rumpled and thoroughly unhappy toy poodle out of it before handing it to the man. The man gave a disparaging cry and clutched his dog, sending the Doctor one more nasty look before scuttling away.

He braced himself before turning back to the pair staring at him expectantly. "Doctor, why are you pretending to be a street magician?" Martha asked levelly.

Ah, so they had been watching him for a while now. . . He mumbled something again, but Martha would have none of that. She grasped his arm, making him look at her. "Doctor?" she said in that threatening, commanding voice she could have sometimes.

"The TARDIS got impounded, OK?" he spluttered angrily.

His anger wasn't soothed any when Martha and Mickey just stared blankly at him. "Impounded?" Mickey finally repeated.

"Yes," the Doctor hissed, moving away from them to start loading stuff back in his pocket. He was seriously debating going back to calling him Mickey the Idiot again, if he kept that up. But when they burst into uproarious laughter behind him, he wheeled, squeezing a Ipthian Jub in his hands.

"Im. . . Impounded?" Martha finally gasped, wiping at her eyes. "How in the world do _you_ get into these messes, Doctor? Only you would manage to get an alien space craft impounded by the city."

"I parked it on a private lot apparently, alright? The TARDIS is several tons heavy! How was I supposed to know anybody would bother moving it? The manipulation field must be malfunctioning. . ."

Mickey was the one that cut off his rant this time. "So that 'park wherever you like' policy isn't working out so well for you this time around, eh?"

The Doctor ground his teeth together, not bothering to give Mickey a retort. Not that he couldn't think of one. Oh no, he had a hundred running through his superior brain right at that moment. No, he was just far busier doing more important things; like tracking down that tabby before it got too far away.

"So where does the magician thing tie in?" Martha finally ventured after they'd given him some time to himself.

The Doctor sighed, and sat down on a lawn chair he had been trying to force back into his pocket. Once inside, it would fit just fine. It was just. . . Getting it through that opening. . . "It's going to cost 245 quid to get her back."

They both sputtered just as he had done not two hours earlier. "Two. . . Two hundred fifty quid?" They echoed. "Why so much?"

"Something about the lorrey, and storage fees, and. . ." He waved his hand impatiently, setting back to wrestling the last few items into his pockets. "The point is, I only have 160 quid. Now I have to find a way to earn 85 more. . . Maybe I'll. . . I'll have to get a job. . ." He paused in his actions, paling at the thought.

Martha's mouth tweaked sideways and she stepped around him, heading for the ATM. She pulled a card out of her pocket, inserted into the machine, punched a few keys, and out came one hundred quid. She walked back to the Doctor, putting it into the hat he held in his stunned hands.

"But. . . I. . . You two have a baby on the way! One hundred quid is a lot in this economy. . . I think. . . What year is it again?" He shook his head, forcing himself back to his original train of thought. "You sure you can afford it."

Martha waved her hand carelessly. "Please. UNIT can reimburse us. Don't you think it's time you got some of your back-due paychecks from them anyways?"

"Well, _yes,_ but I never did care much about—"

He was cut off again by Mickey, who patted him on the shoulder. "Y'know, UNIT has an office just around the corner. Rather than making a fool out of yourself, ya could have just gone to them and asked for a government order to have your TARDIS released from the impound lot."

The Doctor looked at Mickey, groaned, and slumped to the ground. How had he overlooked option 463?


End file.
